We buried Don today in Wausau. He was seventy, three years older than R., and h…

Comments are added in the local viewer; this copy is read-only.

From the app's own code (viewer/app_export.sh): Not made yet: run viewer/app_export.sh retired-couple.

The graph nodes the build makes for it: the record, and its phones, emails, addresses, pictures and files.

{
 "$type": "n_type_journal_entry",
 "id": "n_journal_2021_03_08",
 "createdAt": "1615238400000",
 "date": "2021-03-08T21:20:00.000Z",
 "body": "We buried Don today in Wausau. He was seventy, three years older than R., and he taught R. to fish, to drive and to swear, in that order.\n\nLisa arranged all of it, as she has arranged everything since October. Forty people were allowed in the church, in every other pew, masked, and the rest listened from their cars in the lot, with the radio tuned to a number printed in the bulletin. I did not know a funeral could be broadcast to a parking lot. Carol sat with Shirley. R. and I were in the third pew with a hymnal each and nobody singing, by rule; the organist played the hymns and we stood and read the words to ourselves.\n\nThe pastor was young and had met Don twice. He did his best. Then Brian got up, who has his father's laugh and was not using it, and said that his dad could fix anything with a motor and would tell you while he did it what you had done wrong to it. He said that in the last week Don had him carry the outboard into the living room, so that he could show him from the bed how to rebuild the carburetor. He said they finished on Sunday. Don died on Wednesday.\n\nThat was when R. put his head down.\n\nHe has not spoken about any of it. He drove up every Tuesday from the first of the year and sat with Don in that garage, eight feet apart, because of the virus. He came home each time and reported the weather in Wausau. On the last Tuesday, the 23rd, Don was in the bed in the living room, and R. went in, vaccinated once, in a mask. I asked him that night what they had talked about. He said, \"The ice shack. He wants Brian to have it.\" And then: \"He asked if I was scared, with my heart. I said some. He said him too.\"\n\nThat is the most R. has told me about a conversation with his brother in forty-three years.\n\nAt the cemetery it was 34 degrees and bright, on old snow. There was no lunch, only sandwiches in boxes handed out at the church door, to be eaten in the cars. R. ate his in the truck, in the lot of the paper mill where Don worked for thirty years, with the engine running, looking at the stacks. Then he drove us home.\n\nHe has gone down to the shop. I can hear the plane.\n"
}

personas/retired-couple/records/journal-2020-2022.yaml:195

- id: journal-2021-03-08
  kind: journal_entry
  about: [don-ostrander, ray]
  date: 2021-03-08 21:20
  body: |
    We buried Don today in Wausau. He was seventy, three years older than R., and he taught R. to fish, to drive and to swear, in that order.

    Lisa arranged all of it, as she has arranged everything since October. Forty people were allowed in the church, in every other pew, masked, and the rest listened from their cars in the lot, with the radio tuned to a number printed in the bulletin. I did not know a funeral could be broadcast to a parking lot. Carol sat with Shirley. R. and I were in the third pew with a hymnal each and nobody singing, by rule; the organist played the hymns and we stood and read the words to ourselves.

    The pastor was young and had met Don twice. He did his best. Then Brian got up, who has his father's laugh and was not using it, and said that his dad could fix anything with a motor and would tell you while he did it what you had done wrong to it. He said that in the last week Don had him carry the outboard into the living room, so that he could show him from the bed how to rebuild the carburetor. He said they finished on Sunday. Don died on Wednesday.

    That was when R. put his head down.

    He has not spoken about any of it. He drove up every Tuesday from the first of the year and sat with Don in that garage, eight feet apart, because of the virus. He came home each time and reported the weather in Wausau. On the last Tuesday, the 23rd, Don was in the bed in the living room, and R. went in, vaccinated once, in a mask. I asked him that night what they had talked about. He said, "The ice shack. He wants Brian to have it." And then: "He asked if I was scared, with my heart. I said some. He said him too."

    That is the most R. has told me about a conversation with his brother in forty-three years.

    At the cemetery it was 34 degrees and bright, on old snow. There was no lunch, only sandwiches in boxes handed out at the church door, to be eaten in the cars. R. ate his in the truck, in the lot of the paper mill where Don worked for thirty years, with the engine running, looking at the stacks. Then he drove us home.

    He has gone down to the shop. I can hear the plane.